Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Nursery
The light from my phone screen illuminated the terrifying words in the dark hallway: He sleeps so soundly, doesn't he?
My blood turned to ice. I stared at the image—it was Toby, curled up in his dinosaur pajamas, his small chest rising and falling peacefully. The angle of the photo wasn’t from the baby monitor app. It was taken from inside his bedroom, right beside his crib, at an angle that meant someone had physically stood over him within the last two minutes.
I flew down the hallway, bursting into Toby’s room. I flicked on the light, heart hammering against my ribs. Toby stirred, blinking sleepily against the sudden brightness, rubbing his eyes with his small fists.
“Mommy?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, baby. Mommy’s right here,” I whispered, rushing to his side and scooping him into my arms, holding him tight against my chest. The room was empty. The window was locked tight. There was no one hiding in the closet or behind the rocking chair.
My hands trembled as I looked back down at my phone and dialed the unknown number immediately. It rang once, twice, and then went straight to a generic voicemail. I didn't hesitate; I walked straight to our bedroom, where Gregory was still dead to the world, snoring softly, completely undisturbed by the terror pulsing through my veins.
I stood over him for a long moment, tempted to shake him awake and demand to know who had access to our house, who had keys, and who was terrorizing my son. But caution reined me in. If Gregory was shielding this mistress, confronting him now would only send them both into hiding. Worse, it would alert whoever sent that text that we were onto them.
By sunrise, I had barely slept a wink. I carried a cheerful, exhausted facade, packing Toby’s school lunch while Gregory drank his coffee and read the financial section of the tablet.
“You look pale, Chloe. Are you coming down with something?” Gregory asked, folding his tablet and standing up to grab his briefcase.
“Just a late night reviewing patient charts,” I lied smoothly, forcing a tired smile. “Will you be home for dinner tonight? We need to talk about weekend plans.”
“Ah, fiscal quarter-end at the firm,” Gregory said, kissing my cheek with practiced affection. His lips felt cold against my skin. “I’ll be working late at the downtown office. Don't wait up for me, okay?”
Downtown office. The exact neighborhood where the luxury high-rise apartment on the secret credit card statement was located.
“Of course. Drive safe,” I said, watching him walk out the front door.
The moment his car backed out of the driveway, I didn’t go to the hospital. I called in sick, dropped Toby off at my mother’s house with strict instructions not to mention anything unusual, and drove straight downtown.
The high-rise apartment building loomed overhead—sleek, modern, and intimidatingly secure, requiring a key fob for entry. I parked my car across the street, settled in with a thermos of black coffee, and stared up at the glass monolith. If Gregory was spending his days here while pretending to crunch numbers at his accounting firm, I was going to catch him in the act.
Hours ticked by. My eyes strained against the glare of the glass windows reflecting the afternoon sun. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I had miscalculated, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the front entrance.
Gregory stepped out of the passenger side.
My breath hitched. He wasn't alone.
The driver's door opened, and out stepped the young woman from the bakery. The one wearing my sapphire necklace. But as she walked around the car to meet him, she wasn't wearing scrubs or casual bakery clothes; she was wearing an expensive designer coat, laughing warmly as Gregory gently placed a hand on the small of her back.
They walked toward the grand lobby doors together, looking entirely like a domestic couple returning home. I gripped my steering wheel so hard my fingers ached. I put my car in gear, pulled up directly behind their parked sedan, and grabbed my phone to dial a number I never thought I would need.
“Hullo?” a sharp, familiar voice answered on the third ring.
“Mom,” I said, my voice shaking with a dangerous calm. “I need you to keep Toby for a few more days. I’m blowing up my life, and I need a very good divorce lawyer.”
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Before my mother could even draw a breath to respond, the lobby doors of the apartment building opened again—and Gregory walked out alone, looking directly toward my car with a look of absolute, chilling recognition on his face.
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